


to dance there must be four

by serenlyall



Category: Stargate - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Gen, SO, aka the fic that hopefully gives some interesting insight into how sg1 #2 became a cohesive unit, also sg-1 has ptsd, and deals with a lot of the issues that i think they should have dealt with in the show, fight me, hope that doesn't make you mad lol, oh and i labeled it both gen and m/f because it's mostly genfic but there's a subplot of s/j, okay i'm going to shut up now and just let you read the fic, rating is almost entirely for cursing. two uses of the f-bomb, sorry for vala fans, yes this is before vala becomes part of sg-1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22156873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenlyall/pseuds/serenlyall
Summary: SG-1 has problems. A lot of them. Or: Cameron Mitchell gets more than he bargained for when he rebuilt SG-1, and now has to figure out how to lead a team of people who have known each other for longer than he knew the Stargate was a thing. Also, everyone refuses to sleep.
Relationships: Cameron Mitchell & Teal'c (Stargate), Daniel Jackson & Cameron Mitchell, Daniel Jackson & Teal'c, Samantha "Sam" Carter & Cameron Mitchell, Samantha "Sam" Carter & Daniel Jackson, Samantha "Sam" Carter & Daniel Jackson & Jack O'Neill & Teal'c, Samantha "Sam" Carter & Daniel Jackson & Teal'c & Cameron Mitchell, Samantha "Sam" Carter & Teal'c, Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	to dance there must be four

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I wrote this entire fic in under 3 hours. Ergo, I have no idea if it's good or not. I went back through it, and I *think* it's okay - or at least readable? But uhhh I don't know that for sure. I mean, I can read it. My girlfriend was giving good feedback on it until she fell asleep, lol. But I'm not sure if the ending is too rushed, or if the ending makes sense, or...yeah. This fic was also almost entirely fueled by spite towards how the show handled Sam's return to SG-1, and their inability to acknowledge the mental repercussions of the terrible things they went through, but. ANYWAY. All of that to say, I hope you'll read it, and I hope you enjoy, but I'd REALLY love some feedback on this one. Let me know. Thanks, guys!

to dance there must be four

i.

When Cameron Mitchell arrives in the commissary, it is to find his scientists already there. They are seated at their customary table in the back corner, one facing the other, and he cannot help but notice the way their eyes flick back and forth every few minutes, taking in the airmen coming in and out of the room, the workers behind the food counter, the flow of foot traffic outside in the hall.

“Good morning,” he says brightly a moment later, dropping into a chair with food in his hands. Oatmeal and orange juice stare up at him balefully from the blue plastic tray, waiting with silent resignation for digestion.

“Hm,” Daniel says, while Sam just flicks a glance at him. Daniel’s nose is buried in his coffee mug, steam fogging his glasses, while Sam has her left hand wrapped around a mug of her own.

“So,” says Cameron, “how’d you two sleep?”

Daniel fixes a baleful look on Cameron that reminds him of his oatmeal, then shakes his head. Sam laughs.

“What?” Cameron asks.

“You’ll learn not to ask that question,” Sam says.

“Why?”

It is Sam’s turn to shake her head, a smile curling her lips, and takes a drink of coffee.

“What did I say?” Cameron asks, looking between Daniel and Sam.

“Nothing,” says Daniel. “There’s just…some things we don’t talk about.”

Confused, but willing to run with it, Cameron shrugs and digs into his oatmeal. “If you say so,” he mumbles around a mouth full of cooked oats, and drops the subject.

ii.

Cameron arrives on base early the next morning, pre-mission jitters waking him early and keeping him from going back to sleep. Their first properly-scheduled mission as a fully-staffed SG-1 is set to embark at 1100 hours, and though that is still six hours away, he wants to make certain everything is ready planet-side for him to be gone for a week.

He is surprised to run into Daniel in the hallway outside of the locker room. His hair is damp from showering, his clothes fresh and cleanly pressed, his boots shining. Cameron frowns.

“What’re you doing here so early, Jackson?” he asks. “I wouldn’t have expected _you_ of all people to not be woken up by pre-mission jitters.”

“Pre-mission jitters?” Daniel repeats, frowning. “I’m not—Oh.”

“Oh?” Cameron asks, wondering what epiphany Daniel had just had.

“Nothing,” Daniel says dismissively. Then, “I take it you’re suffering from pre-mission jitters then?”

“Well,” says Cameron slowly, “no. I mean yes. I mean—it’s just, our first few missions these last couple of weeks have been a bit…weird. You know? I’m the odd man out. SG-1 hasn’t been a fully staffed team. It’s clear you and Teal’c have missed Sam. Now she’s back on the team, and I just thought that…”

Daniel smiles. “You’re right,” he says. “The first few missions have been a bit…odd-feeling. It’s been weird going through the gate knowing Sam wasn’t even back at the SGC, able to come back us up if we needed it.”

“But now she is,” says Cameron brightly.

“Now she is,” Daniel says with a smile. “Speaking of Sam,” he adds, “wanna come with me to bring her a cup of coffee? Her pot is probably burned by now, only she won’t notice it until she’s at the dregs, and then she’ll throw up from the aftertaste.” He laughs, but if there is a joke in there, Cameron misses it.

“Why would she throw up from the aftertaste?” he asks, falling into step with Daniel as they make their way toward the commissary.

“Oh, you know,” says Daniel vaguely.

“No, I don’t know,” says Cameron. “That’s why I asked.”

“Burned coffee on an empty stomach and a wired brain doesn’t mix well,” says Daniel. “Especially as strong as Sam brews hers.”

“Ah,” says Cameron, still not sure he understands. Then he frowns, a new thought coming to him. “Wait,” he says, “has she not slept?”

Daniel shrugs. “She said last night she had a project to work on. I assume that means she’s still in her lab.”

“But,” Cameron splutters. “But sleep is important! Especially right before a mission!”

“She’ll get an hour or two before we ship out,” says Daniel confidently. “So will I.”

Cameron stops dead. “So will you?” he asks. “Does that mean you haven’t slept yet tonight?”

“Uh,” says Daniel. “No? But it’s fine. I’ll sleep after our pre-mission briefing.”

“Our pre-mission briefing is scheduled for two hours before we ship out!”

“And your point is?”

“That’s not enough sleep!”

“I’ll sleep tonight,” Daniel promises.

Cameron shakes his head, but does not argue more. He has already learned that the mulish look currently darkening Doctor Jackson’s eyes means he will get nowhere. At least right now.

iii.

Sam is, as Daniel had suspected, in her lab. She is bent over some alien artifact or another on her work table, goggles pushed up onto her forehead, a pair of pliers in one hand. The smell of burned coffee is rich upon the air, and a steaming mug of it is just visible by her elbow.

“Hey, Sam,” says Daniel, making her jump. She turns, body tense, but Cameron can tell she already knows who they are by the open look in her face.

“Daniel,” she says with a smile, dropping her pair of pliers on the table. “Cameron.”

“Here,” says Daniel, handing her a mug of coffee from the commissary. “Thought you could use this.”

“Oh,” says Sam. “Thanks.” She takes a sip of it, nods, and turns back to the device on the table. “You’ll never believe what I think this thing does,” she begins, and then launches into a complicated lecture about nanites, light-wave technology, and something that she calls unorthodox light conversion. Cameron doesn’t understand most of it, and he doesn’t pretend to.

Instead, he watches Sam and Daniel interact. They mirror each other, he realizes after a long moment of silent observation—mirror each other in their looks, in their actions, even in their breaths. They are in sync, reacting and responding to each other in miniscule ways; when one moves forward, the other shifts to accommodate them, and when one glances up, the other meets their eyes with a thousand words buried in blue.

Cameron, very suddenly, feels incredibly lonely.

“So, Sam,” he says, butting into her explanation of the alien artifact, “have you slept?”

“Oh,” says Sam. She frowns. “What time is it?”

She checks her watch at the same time Cameron does, but Cameron still says, “0521.”

“Huh,” Sam says. “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

“Or so early?” Cameron suggests.

Sam shrugs. “Same difference.”

“No,” says Cameron. “Not same difference.”

Before he can protest further, though, Daniel butts in to say, “You’ll need more than caffeine in your stomach before much longer. What do you say we go get breakfast?”

“Mmmh,” says Sam. “Good idea. I could use a break.”

“You coming, Cameron?” Daniel asks.

“Sure,” says Cameron, happy to be included, but still feeling like an alien third wheel.

“Good,” says Daniel, and without another word, leads the way out of the lab and back toward the commissary.

iv.

Cameron hangs back after the pre-mission briefing, and signals Teal’c to stay behind as well.

“Is there something you would like to speak with me about?” Teal’c asks, once the briefing room has cleared.

“Yeah,” says Cameron. “Do Daniel and Sam…I dunno. Sleep?”

Teal’c is silent for a long moment, head tilted half a centimeter to one side. Then, “Yes,” he says simply.

“I mean, I know they have to sleep to survive,” says Cameron, ploughing on. “But do they sleep _enough_.”

“Define “enough”.”

“I don’t know,” says Cameron, frustrated. “Eight hours a night?”

“No,” says Teal’c. “Neither of them need that much sleep.”

“Okay, but surely they need more sleep than they’re getting.”

“Perhaps,” says Teal’c.

“Will you help me?” asks Cameron.

“Help you with what?”

“Making them sleep.”

“No.”

Cameron frowns. “Why not?”

“This is not your battle to fight,” says Teal’c bluntly. “Do not interfere with that which you do not understand.”

“If I don’t understand, then help me by explaining it.”

“I will not.”

“Why not?”

“It is not my place to say.”

Frustrated, Cameron lets out a huff of air. “What about you?” he asks. “Please tell me _you_ at least get enough sleep.”

“Define “enough”,” says Teal’c again.

“I don’t know,” says Cameron, even more frustrated. “Enough to function!”

“I do indeed get enough sleep to function, Colonel Mitchell,” says Teal’c. “As, I think, you will find do Colonel Carter and Doctor Jackson.”

“But they’re getting like two hours of sleep before a mission,” Cameron protests.

“And that is enough for them to function.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I am not “kidding you”.”

“You can’t be sharp and alert on two hours of sleep.”

Teal’c breathes out what in any other man might be a long-suffering sigh, but for Teal’c must surely just be a long breath. “Doctor Jackson and Colonel Carter will not disappoint you, or let you—or the team—down,” he says. “Must I remind you that they have been walking through the Stargate long before you even knew of its existence?”

“No,” says Cameron, feeling sullen. He hates it when someone reminds him how much of a newbie he is to the SGC.

“Trust them,” says Teal’c. “And trust me when I tell you all is well.”

“Fine,” says Cameron, and walks out of the briefing room.

v.

They make camp that night in the shelter of the fallen eastern wall of the castle they have come to examine. There is, supposedly, trace amounts of naquadah in the stones used to build the castle—plus the historical significance of the castle itself to draw them.

They pitch their tents and build a campfire, then settle down around it to eat their MREs. They do so in mutual silence, the sky overhead gleaming with stars and the arm of the galaxy, the planet’s two moons rising over the forest of pine trees surrounding them.

“I’ll take first watch,” says Cameron, crumpling up his MRE package once he’s finished. He assumes his scientists will want to sleep right away.

“I’ll take second,” says Sam.

“Third,” chimes in Daniel.

“Then I will take fourth,” says Teal’c.

“Cool,” says Cameron, settling down with his back against the log they had dragged in from the forest. “Goodnight then,” he says, grinning.

The rest of his team give him strange looks. Not knowing what those looks mean, Cameron shrugs, then settles himself in for a few hours of boring, peaceful watch.

Teal’c settles himself in front of the fire, legs crossed, palms opened on his knees, and closes his eyes. Cameron knows he no longer needs to enter Kel’no’reem to function—but has learned that he still meditates often. He should have suspected this, he realizes; Teal’c would often meditate before sleeping.

Neither Sam nor Daniel move from the fire either, however. Sam digs in her pack for a notebook and begins to write a report on her findings earlier that day. Daniel pulls out a book and begins to read, a pencil trapped between his teeth so that he can make marks in the margins every few minutes.

“Aren’t you two going to bed?” Cameron asks after half an hour has passed.

“No?” Daniel says, breaking his concentration for just long enough to look up at Cameron. “Why? Do we have a bedtime now?”

“No,” says Cameron. “I just thought that, since you two were up so late last night, and didn’t get much sleep, you’d hit the hay early tonight.”

Sam sighs. Daniel shrugs. Teal’c cracks open a warning eye.

“Look,” says Cameron, “I’m just worried about you two.”

“We’re fine,” Sam says. “We’re used to this.”

Cameron shakes his head. “But it’s not healthy.”

“No,” Sam snaps, “what’s unhealthy is you prying into our personal lives and trying to meddle in things you don’t understand. What’s unhealthy is you mucking around in our heads. What’s unhealthy is you blowing into our worlds and demanding we conform to you.” She stands abruptly, dropping her notebook onto the ground, and stalks into the forest. She does, however, stop to grab her P90 from where it was resting by her pack.

Cameron watches her go, shocked. “What did I say?” he asks, dumbfounded. He has never heard of Samantha Carter blow up at anyone like that before.

“She’s angry,” says Daniel.

“About what?” Cameron asks.

“About losing command of this team,” says Teal’c.

“Oh,” says Cameron, feeling like he’d just been punched in the stomach. “Gotcha.”

He spends the rest of his watch in silence, waiting for Sam to come back so he can apologize. She does not, and when he turns in for the night, Daniel is still at work in his book, and Teal’c is still deep in meditation.

vi.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Cameron asks the next morning over coffee and instant oatmeal.

“Yes,” says Daniel.

“Good,” says Cameron. He doesn’t know what else to say, and so says nothing while they eat.

He still has no idea what to say by the time they leave camp for the day. Daniel and Sam move deeper into the ruins to run tests on the naquadah-laced stones and the remnants of a civilization, while Cameron and Teal’c walk the perimeter, keeping an eye out for anything nefarious.

“I didn’t mean to take command away from her,” says Cameron near lunchtime.

“I know,” says Teal’c.

“Does _she_ know that?”

“Perhaps.”

Cameron sighs. “What can I do to make this right with her?” he asks.

“Only time, and proving yourself worthy of her trust and respect, will do that,” says Teal’c.

“Oh,” says Cameron. “Great.”

He had been hoping for a quick fix—something he could do, something he could say, that would alleviate the tension that he had only just realized existed between him and Sam. That existed between him and all the rest of SG-1.

Of course, he should have realized it was there from the beginning. Even before Sam had returned to SG-1, there had been strain between them. Strain, he realized now, was probably because he was an outsider trying to fit himself into their already existing dynamic—because he had taken the place of one of their original team members.

One of their family members.

Cameron wasn’t blind. He knew what SG-1 meant to one another.

He had only fooled himself into thinking he could become one of those as well.

vii.

“You should be kinder to Cameron,” says Daniel halfway through the afternoon.

“Hm,” says Sam.

“He’s only trying to help.”

Sam fixes Daniel with a piercing look. “Don’t tell me you appreciate his nagging about us sleeping,” she retorts.

“No,” says Daniel. “But he’ll figure out soon enough why we don’t sleep.”

Sam laughs at that. The sound is bitter and hollow and anything but filled with joy or amusement. “I hope not,” is all she says, however, before returning back to her diagnostics.

Daniel sighs. “I know it stings—”

“It more than stings, Daniel,” Sam snaps. Then she falls silent, collapsing in on herself like a dying star, shoulders hunching and eyes shuttering. “It’s fine.”

It is Daniel’s turn to laugh. “I think I know you better than that, Sam,” he says.

“What am I supposed to say?” Sam demands, suddenly straightening. “That it’s fine? That I lost command of _my team_ to some hotshot rookie, and I’m okay with that? That I didn’t make a mistake when I left SG-1 in the first place?” She snorts. “Well I did make a mistake, and it’s not fine. And I’m not angry with Cameron—he’s only following orders. I just…”

“You’re angry with yourself,” says Daniel softly.

Sam rolls her eyes and turns away again, shoulders hunching over once more. “I’m fine,” she repeats, and this time Daniel lets her have the lie.

viii.

To Cameron’s surprise, Sam goes to sleep before him that night.

She is gaunt, pale, and still not speaking to him when she climbs into the tent they are sharing. They pulled straws for the watches that night, and he got fourth watch, so he is already in his sleeping bag, but has yet to fall asleep. He watches from the corner of his eye as she curls into a tight ball in her own sleeping bag, head cushioned on one arm, and falls asleep almost instantly, dark lashes dusting her cheekbones.

He watches her sleep for a long half hour, wondering what to do. He wants to earn her trust and respect, like Teal’c said, but does not know how to go about doing that. He’ll have her back in the field, of course—and have her back at home too, if it comes to it. He’ll support her, and encourage her, and prop her up if ever her own two legs aren’t strong enough to keep her upright.

Somehow, though, Cameron suspects there needs to be more than that.

He is just beginning to drift off to sleep when Sam abruptly jerks awake, startling Cameron out of the half-stupor he had slid into as well. She is already reaching for her P90 when Cameron asks, “Sam? Sam, what’s wrong?” He sits up, reaching for his sidearm, eyes roving and ears pricked and heart pounding.

To his surprise, Sam slumps, her hand still an inch away from her gun. “Nothing,” she says, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Go back to sleep, Mitchell.” With that she stands, shoving her feet back into her boots which sit at the foot of her sleeping bag, and crawls out of the tent. Cameron hears her settle down at the fire next to Teal’c, who drew first watch, and then hears the low murmur of their voices as they begin to speak.

For a long moment he considers going after her. Asking what happened. Demanding answers.

But then he thinks better of it, and instead rolls over onto his side and shuts his eyes. He is lulled into sleep by the cadence of their unintelligible conversation, and dreams of ships hurtling through space and fire blossoming in vacuums and the choked-off screams of the damned and dying as they are thrown from blasted-open cockpits.

ix.

Teal’c does not ask what is wrong. He already knows.

Instead they talk about Ry’ac, and about the stars, and about O’Neill. Sam wishes he was there with them. Teal’c agrees. Even after over a year, it is still difficult to leave him behind.

“I just,” Sam says softly, gazing skyward. “So much has changed.”

“It has,” Teal’c agrees.

“And not all of it is bad,” Sam hurries to reassure her friend, her confidant, her brother.

“But not all of it has been good,” says Teal’c.

Sam sighs and shakes her head.

And so they talk about the stars, and about Ry’ac, and about O’Neill.

When Daniel joins them two hours later, they fold him into their conversation with the ease of long practice, and neither of them comments that his watch is not set to start for another hour.

x.

“I just don’t know what to do, Sir,” Cameron confesses, speaking into the phone pressed against his ear. SG-1 had returned from their mission earlier that afternoon, and after showers, their medical checkup, and a boring debriefing, Cameron had made a beeline for his office. It had taken him only a moment to secure the line, another moment to get the number he needed, and a third moment for the person on the other end of the line to pick up.

“What do you expect me to do about it, Colonel?” General O’Neill asks. “In fact, why are you even calling me?”

“They were your team first,” says Cameron. “I thought maybe you’d have some insight on to how to deal with them.”

“If you’re viewing it as “dealing with them”, there’s your first problem,” says General O’Neill, sounding annoyed.

“It’s not,” says Cameron hurriedly. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” General O’Neill asks, sounding even more annoyed.

“They’re not sleeping. They eat, but only as much as they have to. Sam’s angry with me. Daniel is taking Sam’s side. And Teal’c, while respectful, doesn’t trust me.”

“You’re new,” says General O’Neill. “If you’d put together a brand new team like I’d asked you to, you wouldn’t be having this issue. Your problem is that you’re trying to take command of a team that was preexisting, without any tactical experience off-world—and more than that, Earth’s flagship team, who has been through a whole hell of a lot more than you could ever imagine.”

“I read all of your mission reports,” Cameron says, sounding more petulant than he means to.

“That doesn’t mean you get it,” says General O’Neill, exasperated. “And that doesn’t mean you have the whole story.”

Cameron frowns. “What is there to it more than the missions?”

General O’Neill snorts, the sound coming across as static over the phone. “There, you see? That’s your problem.”

Cameron shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

“There’s _years_ of shit that’s not in the files you read,” General O’Neill says.

“Missions? Or…”

“No. I mean yes, there are mission reports that you haven’t read.”

Cameron splutters his protest, but before he can ask to read the unseen ones, General O’Neill continues on.

“But it’s more than that. It’s dinners. It’s game nights. It’s getting drunk at my house. It’s long hours spent in the infirmary by one another’s bedsides. It’s…damn it, Mitchell, there’s 8 years of bonding that you’re just ignoring.”

“I’m not ignoring it,” says Cameron. “Why do you think I’m calling you?”

“Because you want the easy way out,” says General O’Neill. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but there _is_ no easy way out. Not for this. Only a lot of hard work and time.”

“Okay,” says Cameron. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You betcha,” says General O’Neill, though he doesn’t sound enthused. “Now don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, Sir,” says Cameron, and he hears the line go dead.

He hangs the phone back in its cradle, and then buries his face in his hands.

 _What now?_ he wonders.

xi.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam clearly already knew he was there, because she does not stiffen or startle at his voice. She only sighs, then turns, propping her hips against her work table.

“For what?” she asks tiredly.

“For taking command away from you.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not your fault, Mitchell,” she says. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“I can step down,” Cameron says, and he means each and every word. “I can give you command of the team.”

“No,” says Sam. “No, I made my bed—let me lie in it.”

Cameron frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” says Sam. “Just…take the opportunity that was given to you. Use it to your advantage. I’ll get over my anger. I just need time.”

“And what about your sleeping problems?”

“Are you still on about that?”

“Yes. It’s not healthy, Sam. I don’t think you got more than 2 hours of sleep a night all last week. And I’m beginning to suspect you _never_ get more than two hours of sleep a night.”

“I’m fine.”

“Just like Daniel’s fine?”

“Yes.”

“He’s not fine either.”

“We do what we have to do.”

“What does that mean?”

Sam sighs again, and rubs her temples. “It means,” she says slowly and carefully, as if speaking to a frightened animal, “that when we sleep, we dream. And we prefer not to do that.”

Cameron frowns. “What does that mean?” he repeats.

“I think you know what it means. Just let us cope how we cope, and stop trying to make it your business.”

“But it _is_ my business,” Cameron says without thinking. “You’re my team now, and so your well-being rests solely on my shoulders.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “No,” she says, “it doesn’t.”

“But—”

“No, Mitchell,” says Sam again, sterner this time. “Don’t even go down that rabbit hole. Don’t assume responsibility for the independent actions of others.”

“Even if they’re the actions of my team?”

“Not when they’re unhealthy coping mechanisms, no,” says Sam.

Cameron’s frown deepens. “So you know it’s unhealthy.” It is not a question.

“Get out,” says Sam, but her words are lacking authority. Instead she just sounds…tired.

“But—”

“I said, get out.”

Cameron lingers for a second, but then Sam looks at him, and in her eyes he sees something he never thought he’d see there. It looks suspiciously like fear.

He turns, and leaves.

xii.

“You’re worrying Mitchell.”

“Hm.”

Sam lies curled up against Jack’s chest, her head on his shoulder, his arm draped over her waist. The window above their bed is open, and the sweet, mountain air outside the Minnesota cabin blows the gauzy curtains against the screen.

“He called me.”

“He did?”

“Yep. At my office.”

Sam sighs and shifts, curling tighter into her lover’s hold.

“He says you’re not sleeping or eating.”

“I am,” says Sam. “He’s just not used to our standards yet.”

“Then Daniel’s not sleeping or eating either?”

“It’s not too bad yet. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“And who’s keeping an eye on you?”

“Teal’c,” Sam answers promptly.

“That’s something, at least,” says Jack. He sighs, and presses his nose into Sam’s hair. “I should be there,” he says softly.

“You know you can’t,” Sam replies.

“I know,” says Jack. “But that doesn’t keep me from wishing…”

“Me too.”

They’re silent for a long few moments, content to simply exist in each other’s orbit. Then Jack stirs, and sits up, releasing his hold on Sam.

“Come on,” he says. “I’m fixing you a midnight snack, and then we’re sleeping. A whole six hours.”

Sam protests, but only lightly. And if she wakes screaming later that night, neither of them speak of it.

xiii.

“Where’s Sam?” Cameron asks.

“In Minnesota for the weekend,” says Daniel.

Cameron frowns. “Doesn’t General O’Neill have a cabin up there?”

“Yes.”

When Daniel says nothing else, Cameron just says, “Oh. Okay. Well, I needed to talk to her about General Landry’s naquadah generator proposal.”

“She got the clearance for a day off,” says Daniel.

“She has a life outside of the SGC?” Cameron says, trying to make a joke.

“She does now,” says Daniel seriously.

“In Minnesota?”

Daniel shrugs.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Cameron asks.

“There’s a lot of things I’m not telling you,” says Daniel cryptically. “What are you speaking of this time?”

“Sam. And the General. Are they…”

Daniel shakes his head. “You’ll have to ask Sam about that one,” he says.

“But you know.”

Daniel shrugs. “I know,” he says.

“Does Teal’c know?”

“Teal’c knows.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Probably not,” Daniel replies. “Not for sure. The rumor mill—and the betting ring—has been running for years, though. Take your guess. I think Walter’s still taking new bets.”

Cameron rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “Keep your secrets.”

“I will,” says Daniel brightly.

Cameron shakes his head and turns to leave Daniel’s study. “Oh,” he says, “one last thing. I’m eating dinner in half an hour. Care to join me?”

“Sure,” Daniel says, but it is clear he has already forgotten Cameron is there, his attention back on his notes and the translation he’s been working on for the last two days.

“Right,” says Cameron. “I’ll come collect you when I’m ready, then.”

“Yeah,” says Daniel.

“Cool.” And Cameron leaves.

xiv.

“I need a medical team to the Gateroom!”

The iris slides closed just in time for the concussive _thud-WHUMP_ of weapon blasts to hit it. Daniel and Teal’c lower an unconscious, bloody, and almost-dead Sam to the Gate’s ramp, while Cameron takes another step down it and screams for a medical team for a second time.

“What happened?” General Landry is there in less than thirty seconds, all brisk business and clear concern.

“She—” Cameron chokes.

“There was an ambush,” says Daniel. “Someone threw a grenade…thing, and Sam dove on top of it.”

“I was the only one who would have been hit,” says Cameron. “She could have dived the other way. But she didn’t. She just—”

The medical team comes in at a run, gurney pushed between them. The doctor on duty snaps out orders, and in an instant Sam has been loaded onto it, and they are wheeling her away towards surgery.

“Go get cleaned up,” says General Landry. “We’ll debrief in an hour.”

xv.

“I don’t get why you did it, Sam,” says Cameron eight hours later. He is perched on a chair by her bedside, watching the rise and fall of her intubated breath.

He had watched her die twice on the operating table. Heard the flatline sound. Heard the alarms wail. Heard the surgeons’ frantic calls. Somehow, though, she had made it through the surgery.

Now she just had to make it through the night.

“Why?” Cameron asks again. “Why’d you do it? You don’t even _like_ me.”

“That is simply who she is.”

Cameron, startled, whirls. Teal’c stands behind him, a tray of food in his hands. “For you,” he says, and hands the tray to Cameron.

“Oh,” says Cameron. “Uh—thanks.” He puts the tray down on Sam’s bedside table, then turns back to look at her. Her face is bruised and darkened with a patchwork of stitches, but has been cleaned of blood.

“It should have been me,” he whispers at last, knowing Teal’c is still behind him. “Maybe then I could have showed her—could have proven…” He sighs.

“Let her be herself,” advises Teal’c. “Let this be what it is—an act of sacrifice for a comrade.”

“But I—”

“Do not discount her actions with your own self-loathing,” says Teal’c sagely. He rests a hand on Cameron’s shoulder. “Now get some rest. I will sit with her.”

Grudgingly, Cameron rises, and after one last look at her damaged face, he leaves for his quarters to get a few hours’ sleep.

xvi.

General O’Neill arrives in the middle of the night.

“What happened?” he demands as soon as he walks into the infirmary, still dressed in his Dress Blues, hat under one arm.

“Hello to you too, Jack,” says Daniel, looking up from his book. He sits with Teal’c, feet propped up on the bottom of Sam’s bed.

“What happened?” Jack asks again.

“There was a grenade,” says Teal’c, ever the informative one. “Colonel Carter stopped it from injuring anyone else.”

“By “anyone else” he means Mitchell,” Daniel puts in. “Teal’c and I were out of its blast radius, judging by the others they’d thrown at us.”

Jack comes to a halt by Sam’s bedside, stares down at her, and curses. “I should kill him,” he says bluntly.

“You know the risks, O’Neill,” says Teal’c. “In our line of work, no one is safe. Least of all SG-1.”

“I know,” says Jack. “That doesn’t make it any easier. And doesn’t change the fact that she might die because of him.”

“Would you kill one of us, if harm befell her because of us?” Teal’c asks.

“No,” says Jack.

“Then the same standard should be held for Colonel Mitchell.”

Jack groans, and sinks into the last empty chair beside her bed. “I know,” he says, burying his face in his hands. “It’s just…”

“Hard,” supplies Daniel.

“Yeah. It’s really fucking hard.”

“I know,” says Daniel—and Jack knows he does know, even if he’s loath to admit it. Daniel loves Sam no less than Jack does, even if it’s in a different way. Just as Teal’c loves her.

Just as he loves them.

“He blames himself, you know,” says Daniel. “Cameron, I mean.”

“Of course he does,” says Jack. “Doesn’t he know she’d have done the same for any one of you?”

“I think he does,” says Daniel. “And I think that’s part of the problem. He doesn’t think he deserves it.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.”

“No, listen, Jack. He knows he doesn’t belong. He knows he took the command from her. He knows he doesn’t understand what we’ve been through and who we are to each other. You, apparently, made that abundantly clear to him.”

“He needed to know,” Jack protests.

“I’m not saying he didn’t,” says Daniel. “But now he believes he isn’t worthy of SG-1, or being part of our team, or any of the things that go along with that. He believes he’s inferior to us, I think, and unworthy. That has to change.”

“Does it?” Jack asks snidely.

“It does,” says Teal’c. “If this team is to survive, and is to save the world again—as it most certainly will be called upon to do—then we need to function as a team. We cannot do that if one of our number believes he is unworthy.”

“Teal’c’s right,” Daniel puts in.

Jack sighs. “I’m not your leader anymore,” he points out.

“No,” says Daniel. “And neither is Sam.”

Jack looks at her, fighting for her life on the infirmary bed, and says, “Maybe she should be.”

“But she’s not, and we have to live with that.”

“Can she live with that?” Jack asks.

“We’re going to have to find out,” says Daniel.

xvii.

When Cameron walks into the infirmary the next morning to find General O’Neill asleep by Sam’s bed, it feels as if all of his worst fears have been confirmed. So, instead of going to sit with her, he turns on his heel and goes to the commissary to get breakfast, finding a disheveled Daniel on his way.

“Oh,” says Daniel, peering at him through bleary eyes, “hey.”

“Hey,” echoes Cameron. “Let’s go get some food and coffee into you.”

“Sure thing,” says Daniel, falling into step beside Cameron. “Actually, I was just on my way to find you.”

“Oh really?” Cameron asks.

“Really,” says Daniel.

“What for?” Cameron asks.

“I need to talk to you.”

“About?”

“About Sam. And about inferiority complexes, and unworthiness, and sacrifice. Also, about what it means to be a part of SG-1.”

“Oh boy,” says Cameron, a sinking feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. “I can’t wait.”

They get their breakfasts and coffees in silence, then sit down at SG-1’s table in the corner. Daniel nurses his cup of coffee for a moment, then sets it down and begins to eat with little relish.

“Look,” he says at last, breaking the uncomfortable silence that Cameron had been happy to keep going. “Being part of SG-1 is being part of family.”

“I know,” says Cameron immediately. “But I’m not part of that family. And I know that. And I’m okay with that.”

“You might not be part of the family we’ve built for ourselves, no. But you’re part of a new family. Because, with you, there’s a new SG-1.”

Cameron’s eyebrows draw down over his eyes, and his lips thin. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Doctor Jackson…”

“What I mean is this: You’re one of us now. Sam knows this. Sam accepts this. Sam risked her life to save yours yesterday. Teal’c and I know and accept this too. It’s not going to be easy—you’re never going to have quite the same relationship with us as we have with each other, sorry—but that doesn’t mean we can’t build _new_ relationships. That doesn’t mean we can’t build a new type of family, with you included.”

“Oh.”

“So stop assuming that you’re less than us. That you don’t belong with us.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me ever since I joined, though?” Cameron asks.

Daniel grimaces. “Inadvertently, probably. And for that I, at least, am sorry. We want to do right by you, though, Cameron. We don’t want to exclude you. We don’t want to make you feel left out. We don’t want you to suffer.”

“Sam’s still angry,” Cameron points out.

“She’s angrier with herself than anyone,” says Daniel. “She blames herself for losing command of SG-1, and no one else. Certainly not you.”

“Oh,” says Cameron again.

“Look,” says Daniel, “it’s not going to be easy. But it’s doable.”

Cameron squints at Daniel. “Okay,” he says. “But if we’re really in this together—if you mean it about working as a team, and becoming a team—you have to start taking into consideration my concern for your wellbeing.”

Daniel squints in return. “And by that you mean…”

“You gotta start sleeping.”

Daniel shakes his head. “Sam said she had a talk with you. She thought you understood better now why we don’t.”

“Then you two—you _three_ , don’t think I don’t see Teal’c avoiding sleep too—need to start going to see a psychologist.”

“No,” says Daniel flatly.

“I go see one,” says Cameron. “He’s helped me out a lot.”

“No,” says Daniel again.

“I know the symptoms of PTSD when I see them,” Cameron says, blunt as a hammer against glass. “I don’t see how you three have gone so long without seeing a therapist about your issues—”

“Oh, we’ve all seen one,” says Daniel. “And we’ve all been cleared for duty.”

“I’m talking about for help,” says Cameron. “Not for clearance.”

“We’re fine.”

“You’re clearly not,” Cameron argues. “You don’t sleep, you barely eat, you avoid triggers, you’re all jumpy, I see you guys on high alert even when you’re on-base… I’m not saying you’re unfit for duty, because you _clearly_ are. I’m just saying you could use some help.”

Daniel deflates. “We’ll…think about it,” he says at last.

“That’s all I ask,” says Cameron.

xviii.

Sam wakes two days later.

Jack left the second afternoon, recalled back to Washington D.C. Daniel, Teal’c, and Cameron are all sitting with her when her eyes flicker, then open, and they collectively breathe a sigh of relief.

“There you are,” says Cameron with a smile.

“Hey,” says Daniel, smiling as well.

“You frightened us,” Teal’c adds.

“Sorry,” Sam croaks, and Daniel hurries to get her a cup of ice.

She drifts off to sleep after only a few moments awake, but the rest of SG-1 remains by her bedside for long after she has slid into slumber, laughing and talking, all of them joined together by relief so profound it is palatable.

When Sam wakens again, it is to find that she is alone with Cameron.

“I asked the others to leave,” he says, then lifts a hand when she opens her mouth. “No,” he says, “don’t talk. I have some things to say, and I think it’ll be better if you just…listen.”

Sam nods, a fraction of an inch of movement, but Cameron takes it as an agreement.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry for taking SG-1 from you. And I’m sorry for acting the way I’ve been acting. And I’m sorry for not giving you time and space. And I’m sorry for…well, everything. No,” he says again, “don’t talk. Don’t argue. Just let me finish.

“Daniel and I had a talk, and I’ve talked to Teal’c a lot since then too. They’re both willing to give me another chance—another chance to build relationships, another chance to become part of the team, another chance to not blow it. And maybe this is my first chance—the first chance you three have given me, I don’t know. But the point here isn’t to lay blame or point fingers as to who did what wrong. The point is to say “Let’s do better. Let’s be a team. Let’s figure this out—together.” I want to do that. I want to try. Are you willing?”

Sam looks at him for a terrible moment. Then her eyes flicker away from his, and toward the ceiling. “Yes,” she says at last, voice hoarse and thin with disuse.

“I said don’t talk,” says Cameron. “You could have just nodded.”

Sam cracks a grin at that—and in that instant, Cameron knows everything is going to be okay.

ixx.

Sam gets better after that, slowly but surely. One day bleeds into two, and she is able to sit up with help. Two days slide into three, then into a week, and she is able to eat solid foods. One week becomes two, and she is able to stand with support. Three weeks becomes a month, and she begins physical therapy, retraining her weakened muscles what they are supposed to do and how they are supposed to act.

All through it, her team is close at hand. They laugh with her when she gets frustrated by her body’s weakness, cheer her up when she gets down about her inability to walk, then swim, then run. Then tease her, and each other, and slowly, but surely, a bond begins to grow between them.

General O’Neill visits every weekend. Cameron’s suspicions about a relationship are never confirmed, but they are strengthened the day he walks in on General O’Neill holding Sam’s hand. He blinks, and looks again, and their hands are a conspicuous foot apart—but he knows what he saw, and he knows what he didn’t see. He does not, however, place a bet with Walter.

Two months after the grenade exploded in Sam’s chest and stomach, she is cleared for active duty. The team celebrates by going to O’Malley’s. They raise a toast in silent agreement to SG-1, then down their beers—or ginger ale, in Teal’c’s case—and play three rounds of pool that Sam wins. They go home late, but content, and for the first time in a long time, Sam feels at peace.

xx.

“I saw a therapist yesterday.”

Sam looks at Daniel, perched on a stool in her lab, and Daniel looks at Sam, and he does not blink.

“Oh?” she asks. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” says Daniel. Then he sighs. “Yes, I do. It’s something Cameron said. He called me out—and you out, and Teal’c out—about all of our…” He trails off, then says lamely, “Issues. All of our issues.”

“What about them?”

“They’re kind of a problem.”

“We’re coping.”

“But are we really living? Are we thriving? How much longer are we going to be functional? How much longer will we be able to cope?”

“Hm,” says Sam.

“It was good,” says Daniel. “I think you should try it.”

Sam narrows her eyes at her friend, her confidant, her brother. “Why?”

“I know you still wake up screaming from memories of Jolinar,” says Daniel. “And other things besides. I know you don’t sleep. I know when you’re having a bad day because you don’t eat, and when you do, you throw up. You’re irritable, you’re jumpy, you’re always in high alert.” Daniel grimaces. “As Cameron pointed out, those are all symptoms of PTSD.”

“I don’t—” Sam falls abruptly silent. Then, softly, she says, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” says Daniel. “Kind of smacks you in the face, doesn’t it?”

“A little bit,” Sam admits.

“So go see a therapist,” says Daniel. “There’s a list of approved ones in the infirmary.”

Sam nods. “I’ll…think about it.”

Daniel laughs. “That’s what I said.”

“Hm,” says Sam.

Daniel stands, offers her a side hug, then says, “Come on. We should get suited up for our mission. P4R-281 is going to be sandy and hot.”

“Jack’s favorite,” Sam quips.

Daniel lifts an eyebrow in a frightening imitation of Teal’c. “Jack, huh?”

Sam blushes. “He’s not my CO anymore,” she points out.

Daniel just laughs. “Oh, I know,” he says. “I know.” And Sam knows he means more than acknowledgement of what she had just said. “Come on,” he says again, guiding her away from her work table.

And together they walk out of Sam’s lab, the door closing behind them and the lights flickering off, shutting out the sound of their voices and laughter as they make their way towards the locker room—and their first mission as a new SG-1.

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think? How'd I do? Comment and let me know!


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